The Woman with the Dull Knife
by prettyfelicia1
Summary: Serial Killings have been reported over the course of a week, so. The famous duo engages themselves in the latest mystery waiting to be solved, but will they be in over their heads when they both put themselves and every man alive in danger. The Lady, or the Tiger? If this made no sense, I'm glad. More incentive to read it. SherlockXOCXMoriarty & JohnXOC
1. Chapter 1: The New Case

BANG! Gunshots rang out into the open. I rolled my eyes tiredly. _'He's at it, again,' _I thought to myself. I wearily rose from my comfortable arm chair and ambled to the darkness of his room. Cracking open the door, I spoke in an exhausted hiss. "Sherlock, couldn't you _just_ go to sleep, already?" The infamous Sherlock Holmes huffed and threw the gun down. "Sleep? What for, my dear John? It's morning." I sighed, very much unamused. "3:00am, Sherlock. You must find a new case. I can hardly take this any longer." Walking past the lump on the ground I could only assume was the worlds only Consulting Detective, I picked up the paper and parted the dusty curtains. Holmes cried out as the light hit him strait in his pale, cat-like face. My sleep desiring eyes sagged as I scanned over the paper. I felt Holmes come behind me; he read over my shoulder groggily, taking advantage of his superior height. "You smell ghastly," I mumbled as I analyzed the page. Suddenly, my drooping eyes stopped over a promising sentence. "Sherlock, I believe I might've found something," I stated, much more awake now. A grunt was my only answer, so I went on. "It says here that there have been several disappearances, all men. It seems they all went out at some point in the week and never returned." I gazed at him, and knew instantly what he'd say next. "John," he stood and dusted himself off. "The game is on!"

"John, hand me the list of names," Sherlock stated more than asked, holding out his hand. Without a second thought, I handed him the paper. His watchful, clever blue eyes scanned it carefully. He was clearly in his _"Mind Palace"_. "A-ha! We'll begin at Wallace Adkins' house to see if we can find anything. Come along, John!" He walked quickly and with meaning, his long legs carrying him elegantly and quickly. I ambled along behind him, grabbing my coat hurriedly. As we strolled along to the first victims home, I noticed a young woman with bright red curls hanging out of a grey newsboy cap inconspicuously watching us. "Sherlock-" "Yes, John, I am, indeed, aware of the young woman eying us from across the street," Sherlock answered, not bothering to turn and look at me. "Why do you suppose she's watching us?" I inquired thoughtfully. Sherlock took a brief moment to consider this before responding. "I'll tell you when we get back to Baker Street."

"Where precisely did he go?" I asked the sobbing wife of the late Wallace Adkins. "He said he was going out. That's all. H-he never told me where!" she cried. Sherlock perked up, much like a dog who'd just caught a scent. He turned to the distraught widow and simply, and with no shame, nor hesitation, asked, "Where is the nearest Brothel?" The woman rose immediately, shock and horrified by his words. "P-please excuse my partner. He has simply no idea how to communicate with people-" "Madame, I assure you, I wish to know for business purposes only," Sherlock stated, cutting me off. "D-down the street and to the left... Holland's Leaguer..." the woman muttered with hesitancy. Sherlock rushed out the door with me in tow, leaving the startled woman alone and confused.

"Here we are!" Sherlock stated as we screeched to a halt in front of the Brothel. Without a second thought, he pulled me in forcefully and nearly threw me at a table facing the stage. The place was filled with dim, red lighting and smelled much too strongly of perfume for my liking. There was a small staircase leading up to separate rooms for privacy, a bar with a burly man behind it, cleaning out a glass, many tables with small red candles that reeked of cinnamon, a long platform connected to the stage that goes into the audience, (which we were seated directly next to), and a few muscular men near the walls, there for the protection of the ladies. "3rd row seats! Exceptional view, don't you think, John?" I didn't have time to answer when the lights went out completely and a man appeared on the stage. "Ladies and Gentleman, The Holland's Leaguer is proud to present our lovely ladies for your entertainment." Music blared from the speakers in each top corner of the stage as the red curtain parted. Several women clad in scandalous attire ( . ?v=1301058755000) flounced onto the stage; one stood out the most from all the blondes and brunettes. Red ringlet curls bounded every-which-way as she gracefully twirled across the wooden surface. I glanced over at Sherlock briefly to see his eyes glued to the red head. "The girl from before?" I asked, just to be sure. He simply nodded, watching closely as she spun, leapt, and glided across the stage, nearing us with each move. Her long legs moved in an elaborate dance, criss-crossing and kicking with grace unknown to me until now. Sherlock appeared hypnotized, as, I'm quite sure, did I. I watched as she came closer; her eyes locked on my face, then slowly traveled to Sherlock's. For a fraction of a second, I could detect surprise, panic, and fear in her large, heavy lidded green eyes. But it vanished as rapidly as it had come.

The song ended and the women that were on stage came into the crowd and offered their services for the night to any man interested. All, except for the red head. She had disappeared completely. "Sherlock? Should we look for her? The red head, I mean..." I stuttered. "Hello." I jumped nearly out of my skin when a thin finger tapped my shoulder and a soft voice whispered in my ear. I turned around quickly to meet a pair of large blue eyes staring back at mine. "M-may I help you, miss?" I inquired of the petite harlot. She looked intensely uncomfortable. _'She doesn't belong here,'_ I thought. "Well, no... But maybe I can help _you_?" she said suggestively, no longer seeming out of place. I must say, even though I should've expected as much in a _brothel_, I was quite surprised. "Um..." "Actually, _I_ could use your help," Sherlock interjected; I nearly fell out of my seat. Her eyes fell upon Sherlock's pale countenance and she smiled. "Upstairs?" "No. Not that kind of help," he said quickly before she got any closer. "What's her name, that red haired woman." The girl pouted slightly, making her look like an angsty 13 year old. "Before I give away _that _information, maybe you should tell me _your _name." Sherlock huffed exasperatedly. "Holmes. Sherlock Holmes." Her eyes lite up and she laughed loudly. "Her name is Roslyn. She's probably changing in the back. Wednesdays are her off days. I'm Jenine, by the way. Jenine Wood." "Well, Jenine, would you kindly escort us backstage?" I looked at Sherlock again, trying to imagine what he was thinking. She smiled and giggled. "Well, since my official title happens to _be _'escort', I believe I might just be able to do that." She smiled once more before walking backstage, gesturing for us to follow.


	2. Chapter 2: Sexy Doctors and Henchmen?

Sherlock and I followed Janine backstage, all the while gazing around at passing female figures hardly dressed at all. "Try not to look so lost. Act like you're supposed to be here," Janine instructed. "What are we supposed to be? Male strippers?" I replied incredulously. "I wouldn't mind a private show," she said, smirking at my red face. We finally stopped at a door at the end of the hallway, the paint peeling and chipping away. Janine didn't bother knocking, simply walking into the room and motioning us to wait. She looked around for a moment, but turned back to us in confusion. "She isn't here."

Roslyn's POV

_'Sherlock Holmes and John Watson... Sherlock Holmes and John Watson...' _my brain repeated. _'Now that they're in the game, I have to focus.'_ I rushed to throw on clothes over the regal Lingerie I was sporting, but didn't have the chance to even start, for as I picked up my shirt I was grabbed roughly from behind. "BLOODY HE-" I was cut off by a large hand covering my red painted lips. Kicking and muffled screaming proved to be futile attempts of escape as the large man dragged me easily into the alleyway outside the building. "Hello, Rose. How lovely to see you." I recognized that Irish drawl anywhere. "Hello Jim." "Lovely performance, darling. I never get tired of your beautiful body." "Oh? I'm flattered," I replied, trying to hide how anxious I was with a smirk. "Yes," Moriarty stated. "But, it's sadly about to get much less gorgeous, dear." I screamed as the man from before took out what appeared to be a bull whip of sorts and struck me hard with it across my back. As the beating continued, I saw through tear filled eyes the face of Jim Moriarty stained with a sadistic grin as he observed what was happening. I shrieked as another henchman appeared, the first one roughly pulling my legs apart. "NO!" I cried and pleaded. No one could save me.

* * *

John's POV

Since Roslyn wasn't anywhere to be found, Sherlock and I wandered back to the flat with Janine tagging along. "So... You're a Doctor?" she asked me, fluttering her eyelashes. "Uh... Yes?" I replied, rubbing the back of my neck. She smiled at my obvious discomfort and giggled. "I think Doctors are sexy," she stated, winking before skipping past me to walk next to Sherlock. They whispered things to each other, occasionally glancing back at me, making Janine laugh and Sherlock smirk. I let out a sigh of relief when we finally reached the flat, pulling out my keys and unlocking the door. I gasped and shivered slightly when I felt hot breath on the back of my neck coming from Janine, fighting the urge to close my eyes as I opened the door and let her in first. We all three went upstairs and entered the flat. I plopped down on the couch, Janine sitting next to me and much too close for comfort, and Sherlock took the armchair, steepling his hands and placing them against the bridge of his nose, (aka: Thinking pose). Everything was totally silent...

* * *

Roslyn's POV

I whimpered as I stumbled, running clumsily down the empty streets of London. Looking behind me, I let out a terrified whine when I spotted two figures in the distance. "Dammit..." I mumbled weakly, tripping around the corner and onto an unknown street. I raced past a small cafe and collapsed against a door. "Hey! Get back here!" I heard behind me. "Help! HELP!" Shrieking and banging my bloody fists against the door was my first thought, so I acted on it. My vision was blurred from tears... or was it from my major concussion...? I dunno... But it was really freaking blurry. The footsteps seemed to get closer and closer, louder and louder, as my cries became more frantic then before. It felt like centuries before my attackers reached me. It almost made me want to laugh at how slow they were, but I wouldn't be laughing long, so what was the point? It would've simply been a waste of breath. Trying not to cry, I gazed up at them and smirked. "I was wondering when you would finally get here. Did Jimmy hire you in a store parking lot?" A deafening crack resounded through the night as a fist gripped my hair and slammed my head against the door. "Thank you Sir! May I have another!?" I asked tauntingly. This repeated over and over, "Thank you Sir! May I have another!" CRACK! "Thank you Sir! May I have another!" CRACK! "Thank you Sir! May I have another!" CRACK! until I let out a pained groan. The burly man towering above me gave a wicked smirk in triumph, but it soon dissipated when I laughed. "I almost felt that one!" With one more blown to the head, I was seeing stars... and not in the sexy way either. In a really suckish, you're gonna bloody pop it, way. However, right before darkness consumed me, I head the distinct sound of punches being thrown and grunts being pulled from the throats of my attackers. The last thing I saw was two ice blue eyes staring down at me.


End file.
